Page 78 of Mine Again
Me:Yes.
Sapphire Eyes:Fine. But I expect daily messages until then. No more ghosting me.
That flutter again. Soft and quiet this time. Like something waking up.
Me:Bossy much?
Sapphire Eyes:Only when it matters.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Isabella
The shelf under the stairs doesn’t look like much. It holds boxes of Christmas decorations, a broken string of fairy lights, and two dusty board games no one has played in years.
But that’s just the cover.
Luca rigged the base with hidden wheels so the whole thing glides forward if you push in the right spot.
Behind it is the door to a secret tunnel, seamless timber paneling, flush with the wall. It takes a second to find the latch. You have to know it’s there, but my movements are practiced.
Once upon a time, this tunnel was Luca’s and my lifeline, letting us see each other outside our allotted and approved family dinners.
The tunnel is narrow, carved deep into old rock, and smells of damp stone and salt.
I move quietly, letting memory guide my steps. No one else uses this passage. No one else knows it’s here.
Even so, every soft scrape of my footsteps seems too loud in the stillness. My heart beats a little too fast, the old fear that someone might discover me humming beneath the surface. And then there’s the ever-present risk of spiders.
At the end, I reach the iron gate that opens into a hidden cave on our neighbor’s property. Rust flakes at the edges. The padlock is exactly as I left it the last time I came through here, for that last date with Andrea.
Luca and I installed it ourselves when we swapped out the old latch. Only we had the key. But now, only I use it.
My fingers fumble at first, slick with the kind of nervous energy that’s hard to shake. But the lock clicks open, and I breathe a little easier.
The tunnel opens into the back of a shallow sea cave, hidden from view and shielded from the elements.
The shift in temperature makes me shiver, or maybe that’s the nerves buzzing under my skin at the prospect of seeing Sebastian.
I crouch beside the far wall, where a tarp covers something nestled behind the stone. Lifting it, I find the bicycle.
The frame is dusty, and the chain shows signs of rust, but it’s still intact.
Luca hid it here years ago, for me to use when he couldn’t pick me up himself, and I would ride it to meet him at our hiding place.
Since then, I’ve used it a few times. When I needed out, or to be someone no one could follow.
I wheel it carefully to the narrow mouth of the cave that’s just wide enough to squeeze through. Then I push it onto the little bush track that leads to the road.
It’s mid-January, and Sicily wears winter like a whisper. The air is cool but gentle, the light a pale gold as it filters through sleepy clouds.
The roads are quiet. There are few tourists this time of year. Mostly only locals wrapped in scarves and their own thoughts.
By the time I reach Zucchero Café, my nerves have settled into something steadier.
I secure the bicycle and look at the familiar stone archway, where vines curl up the walls and mismatched tables spill onto the pavement.
The last time I was here, I was hopeful that plan NUPTIAL with Andrea would move forward the way I needed it to.
